Crooked Alley
by Mo0ngazer
Summary: Sisters and brothers, enemies and friends, dreams and death, light and darkness... Pebbles is about to discover the true meaning of them all. Full summary inside... Funnier than it sounds. T for battle and death. Companion story of Twisting Path.
1. Allegiances and Prologue

_Pebbles is an ordinary kittypet_, just like every other story. But unlike those stories, she will always stay ordinary. When her friend Scamper becomes a bit _too_ interested in the plans of Ridge, an 'over-inspiring' alley cat who hates twolegs, and a mysterious cat who looks a lot like the one in her dream is hit by a car, she is forced to look deeper into the mysteries of every day and begins to wonder what Ridge is really saying. A spunky, witty tabby, she narrates her way from the ocean, to the forests, and up the mountains that tower over her home, and in the end, it's what matters most to her and her life that she will have to choose between.

_**Allegiances**_

_**AshClan**_

**Leader: **_Ridgestar - _Red-brown tabby she-cat

**Deputy: **_Stagfrost - _Light brown tabby tom_**  
Apprentice**_**: **_Pebblepaw_

**Medicine Cat: **_Stormfeather – _Elderly gray tabby tom with green eyes

**Warriors: **

_Rushfoot-_ Pale gray tabby tom

_Rainflower-_ Dark gray she-cat with white markings_**  
Apprentice**_**: **_Pinepaw_

_Frostfeather-_ White she-cat with blue eyes

_Twigstripe-_ Ginger tabby tom

_Turtlestream - _Dark tabby she-cat_**  
Apprentice**_**:**_ Lilypaw_

_Copperstep- _Golden brown tom_**  
Apprentice**_**:**_ Smokepaw_

_Ivystep- _Dark gray tabby she_-_cat

_Emberfoot-_ Black tom with a ginger paw

_Twiststorm-_ Dark gray tom_**  
Apprentice**_**: **_Fleetpaw_

**Apprentices:**

_Pinepaw- _Dark brown tabby tom

_Smokepaw- _Gray tom

_Lilypaw- _White she-cat with gray patches

_Fleetpaw-_ White she-cat

_Pebblepaw-_ Light gray tabby tom with white feet and deep sea-blue eyes

**Queens:**

_Riversong-_ Blue-gray she-cat

**Elders:**

_Flutterspots-_ Perky graying tabby she-cat

_Maplefoot- _Brown tabby tom

_**Cats Outside of Clans:**_

_Ridge_ - Dark red-brown tabby tom; leader of the alley cats

_Bane_ - Black and white tom

_Branch- _Brown and white tom

_Scruffy- _Fluffy brown tabby tom

_Stripes- _Ginger tabby she-cat

_Ivory- _White she-cat

_Scamper- _Long-haired brown tabby tom with white markings

_Pebbles- _Dark gray tabby she-cat with white feet and sky blue eyes

_Whiskers- _Chubby gray tabby tom

_Hugo- _Elderly silver tom

_Mocha- _Elderly dark brown tabby she-cat

_Sparks- _Ginger tabby she-cat

_Ashes- _Gray she-cat with darker gray patches

_Charcoal- _Black she-cat

_Flicker- _White she-cat with ginger splotches

_Shadow- _Dark gray tom

_Storm- _long haired elderly pale gray tabby tom with green eyes

* * *

**I would like to thank my cousin the 'Prehistoric Pterodactyl Named Delma' for a considerable amount of plot help, her cat Scamper for agreeing to star in the story, and my other cousin Carobelle for typing up the allegiances when I was at her house, because I type wicked slow and she's wicked impatient. Thank you guys!!**

* * *

_**Prologue**_

_The __wind whispered _among the towering trees, moonlight filtering between their trunks in long beams of silver. An owl hooted in the distance, and the river thundered by, each ripple lit like a thread of moonstone. A heavy fog wrapped the trees in swirling gray darkness.

Pebbles opened her eyes in the shadow of a huge mossy maple, blinking. Then she sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. Where was she? Certainly not at home. The middle of the woods? That sure looked like the answer. The woods—oh no!

Like any other cat in Port Angeles, Pebbles had heard all the dark stories about the mossy forest, the prowling wolves, the river of blood, the kit-eating hawk—

Not—not that Pebbles believed any of those stories, r—right?

She got slowly to her paws, and looked around at the trees. She trotted over to the river's high bank, where it dropped away suddenly, leaving several feet to fall before she'd hit the water. Pebbles shrank back. _Well_, she thought, _at least I know it isn't blood. It's _really_ blue, though._

She turned and trotted back across the path to the tree where she'd woken up. _Hang_ _on_—the _path? _She thought. Whipping around, she looked left, right, and saw a footpath that stretched into the darkness. Old and worn, it was narrow and rocky, and at one end, a beam of moonlight in the fog filled it, illuminating a brook that fell into the thundering river. Pebbles stumbled curiously towards it, the fog making the rocks on the path slick.

The stream was dark and deep, and rushed past her in the foggy moonlight, the surface glowing like a star. She peered over a mossy rock into the brook, staring at the silver-blue depths with awe. The swirling pool looked bottomless, pouring over the smooth gray rocks into the big river. Pebbles cocked her head, sinking her thin kitten claws into the sandy riverbank, glancing down.

The banks were worn into a sort of shallow basin, and Pebbles suddenly realized that among the scattered stones, the little indentations were _paw prints. Cat_-_sized _paw prints. Hereyes widened in surprise. Who came out here? She stepped back instinctively, her heart pounding again. Suddenly her back paw splashed into the stream.

It seared like fire and burned like ice at the same time, and she gasped in pain, jumping forward. _Where the heck am I?_ She thought in terror. Pebbles sat down and looked at her foot. All the way up her ankle, her fur had turned black.

Pebbles stood slowly, looking warily around. The stream babbled unconcernedly, the trees rustled quietly, the fog drifted vaguely around her. Then she heard it.

_There are two._

Huh? She looked around at the sound of the whispering voice. It sounded foreign, but sort of familiar...

_But soon there will only be one. _

Then she realized where the voice was coming from—it was coming from _inside the brook. _

_Pebbles clattering on the blood river's shore beneath scampering paws... _

_One black paw will lash back... _

_And find another... _

_Even the brightest star hides secrets... _

_And even distant mountain ridges can reach the stars..._

_Even an accident can save the cats who need you most..._

_Dark moonbeams light the fog..._

A cat was sitting in the mist just a tail-length ahead of him, seeming to glow. Those sea-blue eyes looked oddly familiar too—

_The only thing holding you back... is you. _

Then suddenly the current swelled and dragged Pebbles down with it.


	2. Chapter 1: Wild and Sunrise

Chapter 1: Scamper

_**Chapter 1:**_** Wild and Sunrise **

_Everyone knows how_ _the_ _stories start—"__When__Pebbles__woke__up_ on that fall morning, she had no idea where she would be in just a couple of days," or, "Looking back, I guess I _am_ glad I didn't stay home on that fateful day," or a mouthful of, "Despite all the psychologically catastrophic, excruciatingly painful, or otherwise unpleasant experiences that ensued, I cannot help but fondly remember that early autumn morning."

Well, I don't think much of starting a story like the first option, because you _never do _know where you'll be in a few days, and though I would have preferred to be in exactly the same place as I was then, I can guarantee that in the specified number of days, I most certainly was not.

As for option number two, I most certainly am _not _glad I got up, because a lot of unpleasant experiences that followed could probably have been avoided, and besides, it was awfully cold outside.

And as far as the latter option goes... let's put it this way: it took me a _long _time to get over the final events of this adventure, and it took me an even longer time to think of all those big words.

Anyway, the point is, I have a story here, so shut it and listen.

When the morning sunlight filtered through the sparkly windows and filled the nest with dancing patterns of warm yellow sunlight and whatnot, I woke up. Ta-da. Breakfast was the sophisticated meal of delicacies imported from the long lost realms of The Kingdom of Cabinet-Under-the-Sink. Talk about jump-starting your day!

So I decided that it didn't look so cold out my old 'stained-glass' window (through which I couldn't see the lovely _frost_ patterns), and made a further executive decision to get my friend Scamper's skinny fluffy butt outside for him to meet a few cats I'd met yesterday.

They had a cool idea about living together in a... 'Clan,' I think they called it, and there was a big leader dude named Ridge who talked pretty well, inspirationally and creatively-wise, to an extent were if he suggested it, you might consider jumping off the end of a dock. You _might_.

So, a few minutes later, I was freezing my rear off and sticking my head into Scamper's cat flap.

"SCAAAAMPER!" I bellowed. "C'mere!"

"Huh?" said a voice next to my head. I turned and saw him blinking blearily at me from his basket. "Pebbles? Wuzzgoin' on?"

"C'mon lazy bones," I told him, "There's some cats you need to meet.

* * *

Port Hope is a small town, mostly thriving on port stuff. Don't ask me. That's what Ivory said, anyway. She's an "insufferable know-it-all," but unfortunately, she does know it all. She tells me she's been traveling, and this town is poor and run-down compared to others, which just goes to show how much I know—I just thought all towns had dank, dark, wet, garbage-filled back alleys. Oh well. Lucky for me, I _did _get born into an alley-filled town, with a bunch of boats, the ocean, docks, less dogs than most towns, (though any dogs is still too many) and about twice as many cats.

For aesthetic points, you don't exactly want to look at the town, but more at the _very_ nice landscape into which it was chucked. A panoramic ocean view of frothy waves and blue horizon meeting the blue sky filled with pale sunlight and fluffy clouds that arch overhead fills half of your... view, while the shadows of some whoppin'-huge mountains and some BIG forests tower over our town's other half.

To connect the snowcapped mountains view to the lovely ocean one, we have thoughtfully provided a HUMUNGOUSoil tanker that drops in from time to time from the northerly areas of around here, as well as some rotting wooden docks that go out into the water and then conveniently just _end. _

Our housefolk are not angels to us, nor are they mean, as the Alley Cats seem to believe. But it was awfully easy to get caught up in their emotions, convinced by mere _words_ that the housefolk that had raised us and fed us and kept us safe and warm and relatively comfortable were villains and were oppressive and mean, when just _believing_ the Alley Cats' words proved that they gave us more than we deserved.

Deep, aren't I?

Anyway, this town was our home: lovely, sure; picturesque, fine; fancy, negative. Ah, well. The housefolks were: nice, sure, pretty angelic, fine, evil, negative. My point? Background information is generally appreciated, but if you don't care, feel free to skip ahead several chapters, then a few more, wait a moment, then go to the end of the story and close it. This entire thingis background information, technically. The point being that our town was just here, waiting for something exciting to happen, I guess...

Well, guess who pulled the lucky ticket?

* * *

"Where're we going?" asked Scamper for the googol-eth time.

"_Somewhere_," I replied for the googol-eth time. He sighed irritably, and we turned a corner, and entered a—you guessed it—dark alley. Scamper gasped.

I sighed, shaking my head and grinning, and led him in.

The crooked cobblestone alley was filled with billowing sheets of steam and mist, the walls and ground were slick with dew and moisture, and housefolk garbage was scattered in the sand and mud that had gathered in the crevices and corners of the alley. But, naturally, Scamper wasn't gasping at the amount of cold mist, the atrocious amount of litter, or the distinct lack of a proficient cleaning crew. He was gasping at all the _cats. _

They were on top of milk crates, climbing around inside barrels; mewing and yowling and chattering and scuffling and generally milling about; there were giant toms, meek kits, pregnant she-cats, grumpy senior citizens, giant she-cats, scuffling young toms, and younger she-cats chasing each other through little obstacle courses. Let's put it this way: there were a _lot of cats. _

"Holy _c_—" Scamper began, but at that moment a hulking huge tomcat leapt up onto a teetering stack of milk crates and cleared his throat for silence.

"That's Ridge," I whispered to Scamper. He nodded. A long-haired brown tabby tom, Scamper isn't one to stand out on a crowd—'bottlebrush' tail, white markings, smudgy face, and a sort of bland personality. Like he says, though: opposites attract!

When I asked a friend of mine about how to describe myself in this narrative, he said, "a friendly, witty, brave, quick learner, sassy, smart-aleck." Sheesh, he is a _nice_ _guy_! I don't think I'd describe myself like that in a hundred seasons! Okay, smart-aleck, I can see, but _witty_? Anyway, I was an ordinary dark gray tabby, with lovely pink-padded white feet. I'm still a gray tabby, but I have harder pads now; black. I was about nine 'moons' old then, and 'smart-aleck' pretty much sums me up. Okay, I guess not, but I don't know what else to say…

"Cats of the Alleys," said Ridge, and I cocked my head. I wasn't a stray! "We gather here today for our first organized meeting. When I first introduced my ideas to a few other strays, I had no idea that they would spread so far... The things I said seem to have caught on, and like a whispering wind, woven between the spirits and minds of our town's cats, taking root and growing stronger... All the cats that have gathered here today, called as if by some force that watches over us all, I know you all understand what we are here to discuss—the twolegs."

Murmuring broke out at this. 'Twolegs'? I'd never heard that word before. Most of the others appeared not to have either. "Weird," I muttered.

"Huh?" Scamper replied in an undertone. He was staring intently at Ridge.

"I said," I said, "'weird'. 'Twolegs'? That's a new one."

"Yeah..." He wasn't listening. I sighed and turned back to Ridge, who had started inspiring people again.

"...our so-called 'owners' are oppressing us, giving us little freedom, holding back our true spirits and natures—" He opened his mouth to continue, but cheering had broken out from the edges of the crowd. A fluffy house cat had stood up and was yelling.

"Yes! Yes! The housefolk—I mean, twolegs, are oppressive! They give us dry food! Horrible names! Nobody wants to be named 'Scruffy' or 'Stripes' or 'Whiskers'!" A few other cats yowled in agreement. I was a little alarmed. I had just befriended the Fire sisters, four funny, intelligent she-cats whose names were Ashes, Sparks, Charcoal, and Flicker. They seemed perfectly satisfied with their names, and I even _liked_ mine! I didn't see them, and this 'meeting' was getting a bit out of hand. I turned to Scamper to say something, but he had stood up and yowled along with the others.

"Yeah! They name us horribly! Who wants to be named Scamper? I don't!" he yowled. Other cats joined in with cries of "I don't!" I stared in horror at Scamper.

"What's wrong with your name?" I demanded in an undertone.

"Who wants to be named 'Mocha'? I don't!" yelled someone. _What's 'Mocha'?_

"'Scamper'? That's an awful name! It sounds so... cowardly!" mewed Scamper, not bothering to keep his voice down.

"What—?!" I began, but there were so many yowling voices that he couldn't hear me. Scamper turned back to the crowd and his voice joined theirs.

"Who wants to eat dry rabbit scat?" demanded someone, and I almost laughed. Almost. "I don't!"

"We don't!"

"Who wants to eat glop? I don't!"

"I don't!"

"Who's going to put up with this? I won't!"

"I won't!"

"No!" yowled Ridge. "We won't put up with this! We deserve better!"

"We deserve better!" the crowd yelled.

"We deserve better names!" yowled Ridge.

"We deserve better!" they chanted.

"We deserve better food!"

"We deserve better! We deserve better!"

"We deserve better homes!" he yelled, and as I searched for a way out, I knew he was about to reach his point—"We deserve the wild!"


	3. Chapter 2: Screeches and Docks

_**Chapter 2: **_**Screeches and Docks**

_I gave Ridge a serious eyebrow _before turning around and weaving through the crowd, swiftly developing a severe cough. The '_Wild'_?!

Right. I'm _so_ sure.

I darted out of the alley, around behind Ridge, glancing over my shoulder. I could see... Scamper. Sitting there, yelling along with the others. I wondered if they'd caught Ridge's words at all—when you get a crowd riled up, they sort of... become deaf to everything but their own chants. A friend of mine said that once. He'd say it now too, if he could. But thanks to the wisdom of that philosophy, he can't.

Anyway, I trotted down the cobblestone sidewalk, admiring the frothy ocean and the seagulls twisting and screeching in the sky above it. Heck, I'd like to be a bird. Flying sounds like something... worth dying for, almost. Almost.

I walked slowly down the dock, watching the seagulls. The boards creaked beneath my feet, and the cold sea spray splashing on me wasn't exactly helping the 'cold' problem. I walked right to the end of the dock, and watched the fish diving in and out of sight below me. Mmm...

That dream I'd had last night, about the river... and a bright star... a blood river! That sure sounded ominous. And my paw! Didn't it dip in the river and turn black? I lifted up my forepaw, and sure enough, I was jet-black. My heart pounding in my throat, I looked up at the sky as if hoping for an answer there. _There are two._.. whispered a voice in my ears. Two... which brought my mind back to Scamper.

Scamper was way too excited about Ridge and the Alley Clan thing; he's been over-inspired—is that a word?—Ridge was definitely too inspiring, and his ideas were definitely bonkers when you actually looked at them. Which nobody else was doing. I could almost hear them screeching for their (pointless) cause, when suddenly I heard a real screech.

A car's screech as it swerved, and a cat's agonized screech as it didn't swerve fast enough.

I sprang up, my heart beating so hard it hurt, and sprinted along the dock, my claws unsheathed instinctively. On the road ahead there was a huge black SUV and some young humans getting out of it, looking alarmed. In the middle of the road, a light gray tabby tom with white feet lay, his left hind leg covered with blood, and his chest rising with rapid, shallow jerks. His sea-blue eyes were stretched wide and blank, but I was sure he was unconscious.

With a hiss at the twolegs who were approaching hesitantly, I leaned over him and grabbed his scruff. He didn't weigh much, but I was a house cat, and could hardly lift him. He looked about my age. Trying to spit at the twolegs and carry the cat at the same time was no easy task. I didn't know him, but he'd just been hit by a car and I felt that, somehow, the twolegs wouldn't be of any help. They looked young, teenage maybe, and they didn't seem reluctant to back away and get back into their car.

I dragged the tom by his scruff towards the alley where Ridge and his alley cats were chanting, praying to no one in particular, but the higher powers as a collective entity, that some cat would be able to help. Their yowls met my ears, and I heaved the tom over the curb and into the alley. Ridge was still standing on his stack of crates, and nobody appeared to have registered yet what he'd said about 'The Wild'. They were still yelling like maniacs, and I found myself wondering what Ridge was actually gaining from all this.

"Excuse me, um, Ridge? 'Scuse me? EX_CUSE ME_! _RIDGE_! HELLO?" I bellowed. He turned to face me, looking mildly surprised. "I have a—THIS CAT is INJURED, he just got HIT BY a CAR, SO is there SOMEONE WHO COULD—?"

"You see?" said Ridge, and the crowd quieted. "These twolegs are evil, they run us over with monsters and—"

"Yeah," I said loudly, "but the _point_ is that this cat really needs some _medical attention_! Who cares about your _freedom trail_ when you could just _leave _rather than getting all worked up and this cat is about to _die_? Can't you show even a little compassion for a _minute?!" _I added, unnecessarily, probably. All I wanted to do was shout, 'Is there a doctor in the house?!' but that didn't exactly seem like an option with all these distinctly evil glares coming in my general direction. "Anybody know how to heal...?" I trailed off with despair filling my chest like a cloud of smoke.

This cat was going to die, and I couldn't do anything to save him. I stared around at the hostile faces, panic filling me at an alarming rate, the young tom's shallow breathing filling my ears like a howling wind—

Then an elderly-looking gray tom stepped forward, raised his majestic-looking head and fixed me with a green-eyed gaze. "I can heal him," he said.

I sighed with relief, and heaved the young tom up by his scruff again, my jaws throbbing and my heartbeat mercifully slowing. His breathing was rapid and shallow as the long-haired tom led us wordlessly back towards the docks. The eyes of every cat in the alley followed us.

We turned, however, and went down a damp, mossy flight of stone stairs, the tom's body flopping in what I was certain was a painful way. I dragged him across the pebbly shore, wincing as the stones dug into my soft pads. The elderly tom trotted slightly ahead of us, not looking back to see if we were following—as if I had any choice! The tom's scruff was slipping out of my sore jaws, and I paused for a second, adjusting my grip. When I looked up again, the _elderly_ tabby had vanished.

For several seconds I stood rooted to the spot, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. Great. The light mist down under the docks swirled around me, and I stepped hesitantly forward, towards the rock wall near where the tabby had disappeared. "Hello?" I said blankly, my voice shaking.

Suddenly a pair of eyes appeared in the mist near the shadows of the wall. Green eyes. I let out a sigh of relief and dragged the tom over to him.

He was standing in the entrance to a cave, where the hole that made for a door expanded into a small cavern. The craggy ledges smelled strongly of salt, and a single shaft of sunlight fell from a long crack in the ceiling, which I was sure, was a sidewalk crack. The hollows in the walls had been made by little trickles of water, but were now full of herbs and strong smelling plants.

He directed me to a dip in the ground where moss and feathers and leaves made a relatively comfortable nest, and I laid the tom down. He then told me to lick his leg, to clean it. I wasn't exactly enthusiastic about this, but I bent down and began to lick vigorously.

The old tom bustled around, taking down roots and leaves. He chewed them up and spat them onto a pad of moss. I glanced up at him, and opened my mouth to say something. But the unconscious tom's eyes suddenly snapped open.

Glazed and blank, his sea-blue eyes rolled back in his head and he coughed hard, retching. The old gray tomcat stared at him with an unreadable expression. He was saying something, and we both leaned down to listen.

"_There are two," _he rasped._ "But soon there will only be one_..."

And suddenly I knew where I'd seen those sea-blue eyes before.


	4. Chapter 3: Blue Eyes and Two Black Paws

_**Chapter 3: **_**Blue Eyes and Two Black Paws**

_I shivered, _looking down at his wide blank eyes. Was he the cat in my dream? Wondering if he would live to tell me, and praying to the general Superior Beings he would, I turned to the old tom.

"Could you—what's you're name, 'cause I don't know what to, like, call you, so...?" I said nervously. How's that for razor sharp wit, huh? He gave me a long, impassive stare, and I half-expected him to suddenly crack up laughing and say, 'Jeez, you're twitchy! I was joking! I'm not a mysterious bearded mentor of the spirits! I'm just a doctor! Actually, I got my degree more like, 'doctorate of sales,' but you still have to call me doctor! Anyway, my brother...' But he didn't.

"Storm," he said. His voice was deep and rumbling, like an earthquake, (I'd imagine). "You may call me Storm. Have you finished licking his ankle?"

I shook my head, and hesitated, wanting to ask Storm if he was going to be okay, but the coughing, half-conscious cat thrashed beside me, and with a quick glance at Storm, who was spreading a chewed-up mixture onto a pad of moss, I bent down and began licking. Suddenly, I sat back up again, staring at his foreleg, which was bent at a crooked angle and paddling frantically up and down, steadily oozing blood. His foot was black.

Just like mine.

_He's a gray tabby with blue eyes and white feet. Just like me, backwards—I'm a dark gray tabby, he's a pale gray one; his eyes are dark blue, mine are light blue. His eyes are the same deep blue in my dream, and he just said one of the lines of that... prophecy thing I heard. And he has one black paw._

"_There are two," _he rasped again. "_but soon there will be only one..." _

My head jerked up, my eyes wide. He went on, thrashing in his half-conscious sleep.

"_Pebbles clattering on the blood river's shore beneath scampering paws..." _he said in a low, choked voice. Suddenly my heart was beating a lot faster than usual. "_One black paw will lash back... And find another... Even the brightest star... hides secrets... And even distant mountain ridges can reach... the stars... Even an accident can save the cats who need you most... Dark... moonbeams... light the fog..." _he jerked and rolled over,his breathing fast and shallow. My head was pounding. 

Suddenly Storm was next to us, applying the poultice to his leg, and giving him some strong smelling herbs to eat. He coughed, half-choking half-retching. I drew back. Lying down in a relatively dry corner of the cave, I watched Storm rush back and forth in the cave, gathering herbs and making another poultice, feeling my pulse pumping in my arm.

I understood now. One black paw, me, had lashed back at Ridge and his gang of nutcases, and found another black paw—this guy. 'There are two' black paws. The accident to save the cats who need me most was the car accident this tom had been involved in, and the dark moonbeams and fog were also in my dream. It all fit! All I'd needed was the missing piece, and that was this tomcat here. The pebbles that were clattering on the blood river, the rumored one in the forest, were me also, because I'd been on the shore of that river.

And soon there would be only one, because I'd been swept away by it.

I looked over at the unconscious tom, whose eyes were now closed, and was still waving his front and back paws like he was trying to run away, and suddenly I felt sickened. _I was watching a cat die._ I wondered how painful it was to lay there, swimming in and out of consciousness, knowing there was no hope and struggling to stay in the light and not be dragged into darkness...

"_The only thing holding you back... is you," _he gasped, and, coughing and thrashing, he rolled over and went still. Suddenly his eyes snapped open. He blinked, and slowly turned his head and stared at me with completely conscious sea-blue eyes.

I stared back my mouth hanging open, and his mouth fell open too.

"You!" he gasped. 


	5. Chapter 4: Stories and Seagull Scat

_**Chapter 4: **_**Stories and Seagull Scat**

"_Me?"_ I said blankly.

He gave me a terrified-or-angry-but-I'm-really-too-shallow-to-figure-it-out-so-just-deal-with-it-or-possibly-run-for-your-life look. I gave him as much eyebrow as a cat can without sustaining serious injury. He spluttered incoherently for a few more seconds before clamping his mouth shut. I raised my other (nonexistent?) eyebrow and took a deep breath.

"What in the name of—" we both began.

"–Seagull scat?!" I finished.

"—StarClan?!" he said emphatically, "is going on?"

"Well then, what in the name of seagull scat is '_StarClan'_?" I demanded.

He hoisted himself up, swaying with the effort to sit up.

"You don't know what _StarClan_ is?!"he lowered his voice to a whisper, as if he was saying some forbidden swearword.

_Speaking of which, I do know several good ones I should probably teach him later, _I reflected. 'What in the name of StarClan' isn't really serious enough for this situation—then again, neither is seagull scat—I mean, you wake up in a gave with a mangled leg and two random cats leering at you? I think that something more appropriate (or inappropriate) would be _HOLY C—_

"No, I don't," I replied calmly. "Who _are _you anyway? Why did you keep talking in your sleep—" I broke off, deciding against going into the details.

"I was talking in my...?" he began, but then appeared to make the same decision I did. "Pebblepaw. My name's Pebblepaw."

"_Pebble_...?" I repeated, and suddenly I felt like I'd been slapped awake. _I GET IT!! _I thought triumphantly. _HA!!_

"You?" he asked.

"Pebbles," I said, a smile breaking across my face like a sunrise, or a smashed egg. Either way. "I'm Pebbles."

He gaped at me. "You—look like—uh..." He appeared to grope for the right words. "Someone I know..." he finished rather lamely.

"well now, take you for example," I mewed, standing up and pacing back and forth, which I often did when trying to figure something out, "would you say you know yourself?"

"Um... yeah..." he said. "Why, exactly?"

"Because, young chap," I said, stopping and facing him, "I seem to bear a striking resemblance to _you_!" He just stared at me. I sighed. "It seems that we aren't exactly accomplishing any comprehensible or otherwise informative conversation here with all our sentences trailing off," I said, "or is that just me?"

He cracked a smile. "Seems like it."

So I told him everything. I'll spare you of the details, because you already know them—my dream, the message from that voice in the stream or something, (his eyes widened to the size of my food bowl at that point) Scamper, Ridge (his eyes widened to garbage-can-lid-sized about there) and his Alley Clan (at this point a look of horror dawned on his face at this point), and about when he was hit by that big SUV (which he called a monster, and I told him no, that's silly, they're not actually _alive), _and about Storm, (Pebblepaw looked even more surprised, if possible) who seemed to have mysteriously disappeared, and what he'd said in his sleep.

I stopped pacing and sat down in front of Pebblepaw.

"Your turn," I told him.

"Okay," he began shakily. I could tell he was shy and preferred not talking to cats. So he addressed the wall. "I... well, I lived... in the forest... and..." he began to gather speed and confidence as he spoke.

"my mentor, he was the deputy... but I could tell he didn't really like me... he was always really distant... and his son, Smokepaw, well he was a real pain, and we lived in a clan, see, in the woods, in this dried up riverbed called AshClan, where our leader was..." he paused, shooting me a nervous glance, as if I'd kill him for his next words. "Well, her name was Ridgestar, and she was Smokepaw's mom so he was always a spoiled brat, and then yesterday morning...

"I'd had this dream the night before, and I was walking in an alley, and there was all this mist, then I went down to this wooden thing by the ocean, and I saw a cat and he told me a prophecy—" I raised my (invisible?) eyebrows "—that was the same as you said yours was and the one I said in my sleep, and then I fell into the water, and I was drowning, and then I woke up and went on patrol with my friends the dynamic duo..." I hoped that this instance of sarcasm meant that he was warming towards me.

"Smokepaw and Stagfrost, my mentor, they were being horrible to me and blaming me for everything, so I finally snapped and yelled at them, and then I ran off through the woods, and I got to twolegplace—"

"Sorry?" I interrupted, not that I had understood most of what he said. "Twoleg-place? Like, this town? Port Angeles? Where all the humans live?" he cocked his head. "Twolegs—well, you and Ridge call them that. Go on," I elaborated hastily.

"Okay, so then I got here, and I smelled a bunch of cats but I must've gone down the wrong alley, 'cause there was no cat there, then I saw the ocean, and it was so beautiful..." he looked embarrassed at this point, and he glared at the wall as he continued. "Then I was racing across to see it and a monster—"

"—car," I corrected quickly. He plowed on, gathering speed until sparks were nearly flying off his tongue.

"and-it-hit-me-and-it-was-all-black-then-I-was-back-in-my-dream-and-your-eyes-were-in-the-water," he took a deep breath and continued, "and-there-was-this-all-grey-seagull-with-green-eyes-and-he-told-me-that-same-prophecy-to-repeat-it-and-pass-some-message-and-then-he-vanished-after-he-said-he-was-from-StarClan-and-i-drowned-and-then-I-woke-up-and-saw... you."

"oh." I said. _HUH_?! "Could you repeat that? A bit... _slower?"_

"Yes," said Ridge, stepping into the cave, "could you say that again?"


	6. Chapter 5: Brilliance and Kitties

**_Chapter 5: _Brilliance and Kitties**

_Ridge! _I thought in horror.

"_Ridge_!" I gasped in horror.

Pebblepaw, who had been looking vaguely confused, brow furrowed, ect., now allowed his face to assume a look of equal horror. Praying to—what had he called it?—_StarClan_ that he'd come up with a snappy retort, and that he wouldn't babble or have to be tortured into telling Ridge what we'd found out, I stepped forward.

"Sorry, Ridgey, old pal, but this is a closed club, no more members can apply until next season, so, no matter how much you want to join the tragic-accident-then-be-in-a-coma-and-discuss-various-supernatural-happenings club, you will have to wait, just like everyone else," I told him sadly. "But there is a waiting list, so..." I trailed off and left the rest of my sentence to the imagination.

Ridge hissed softly.

"Don't mess with me, kitty," he growled. "I think I might know you better than you know yourself..." He turned his eyes back on Pebblepaw, and I started to feel a little panicked.

"So, about our little club...? You know, the waiting list? You're at the top! Got that application in early, I see. Good, good, I like a well-organized, punctual cat. You'll do well here, especially on the tragic accident bit..." I lowered my voice as I finished, "though I _daresay_ you will mostly be the one _causing_ most of the accidents...? That _is_ what you enjoy... right?"

Pebblepaw laughed softly. "Something like that. You know," he continued for me, smiling at my gaping mouth. _Great... um_—_StarClan! Comprehensible speech!_ I thought. "...you seem to greatly resemble an old friend of mine... Ridge, isn't it?"

Ridge nodded slowly, and I gaped wider. Was I _related_ to Pebblepaw or something? He sure sounded like me!

"Well, Ridge, your personality reminds me of another old friend... actually two: Smokepaw, and of course dear old Stagfrost. My mentor, you know? And then our unforgettable leader..." He smiled pleasantly at the memory. Slightly confused, I cocked my head. I could've sworn he hated them... "Well, yeah, you and Ridgestar? Like twins." He smiled more widely. It seemed to me that Pebblepaw had discovered one of the great joys in life: antagonizing annoying cats!

Ridge, on the other hand, seemed to think otherwise. He was literally _shaking_ with anger. I jumped in. Watching a cat explode with annoyance is always fun, and back and forth taunting is a chief weapon. I applied it.

"Gee, Pebblepaw, you seem to have broken some record of some sort," I told him, positively beaming, "He's actually _shaking_ with anger! Wonder what happened... personally, I don't see any insult in comparing him with a heartless mentor who doesn't have enough brains to see past his son's gaping mouth, which happens to always be in the way, so really, Ridge, you should calm down. Talk about your feelings. Anger management, you know? Just let it all out."

Pebblepaw grinned, and I could almost see the insult forming in his mind. "Ridge, is this excess anger bubbling out about the club? Because we can bump you up to the waiting slot... if you really want to... it's just a club though, nothing _that _important..." He was restraining his laughter with difficulty, and his eyes were lit up with a smile that really looked a lot better than his old constant fear-pain-anger look. I grinned back, feeling like the sun had peered around the clouds. Picking up on the cue, I bounced the ball back to him with:

"Ridge, Ridge, you need to _talk _about your feelings, let us know... nobody can help you if you keep them bottled up inside..." I told him in my most little-kit-comforting voice. "Let it out... let us know how you feel..."

Suddenly Ridge whirled around to face me, a horrible smile curling his lip.

"Alright, kitty, let's _talk!" _His huge paw swiped out of nowhere, catching me in the side of the head. What could I do? I'd never fought anything in my life, not even a cold. With a cry I fell to the rough stone floor, my jaw and cheek bleeding. I heard Pebblepaw yell something garbled that sounded like '_Pebbles_!' but I was having a hard time breathing, so I couldn't really pay attention to that sort of trivial thing right then.

Dimly I heard voices above me. _Ridge... Pebblepaw..._ _I think..._

"Alright, kitty," one of them growled. "Talk. Tell me what you told her. Now, or the same thing'll happen to you. _Talk_!"

The other squeaked in terror. "I don't know! Don't hurt me! We were just playing!" Whoever was speaking sure had lost all his bravado. "All I said was that I was lost in the woods, and when I saw the ocean, I knew I was home, so I ran and forgot about the—you know—"

Pebblepaw kept himself from saying 'monsters'. I felt some sigh of relief inside me, then realized that I was thinking clearly. Thanking StarClan I'd taught him the right word, I also realized that Pebblepaw hadn't lost a single bit of his bravado—Ridge just couldn't see it.

"—cars, and so one of 'em hit me, and that's where she found me"—I mentally thanked him for not saying my name— "and took me to you guys, she told me, and then the seag—I mean, you know, the seagull-stormy-grey cat with those funny green eyes came and healed me, so..."

I opened my eyes a crack, blinking blood out of them, and looked at them. Ridge had Pebblepaw pinned down on the stone, his teeth bared, and Pebblepaw was squirming very realistically, his face screwed up with fear/pain. I smiled. Pebblepaw was brilliant. He was telling Ridge the truth, just not all of it, or the part Ridge wanted to hear.

"We—were—just—playing—" he gasped, and I realized he wasn't faking the squirming/fear/pain. Ridge really was choking him.

"Seagull _scat_," I hissed to myself.

"Please... it was just pretend..." he whispered, "and you can... you join the club too... if you want... you can play too..."

I mentally applauded Pebblepaw for his brilliance. _You can play too... _brilliant little furball. Ridge obviously disagreed (or agreed, depending on your perspective) and let go of the 'helpless little kit'.

"Silly game," he growled. "Do you really think I want to start playing it too?"

"Well, you did seem kind of... _enthusiastic..._ about it," he muttered, getting to his paws.

"Not so fast, kitty," snapped Ridge, pinning a flailing Pebblepaw back onto the ground. "Don't you realize?" He raised his voice and flicked his tail back and forth as he added to whoever was hanging around the entrance to the cave, "bring him in."

A long-haired tabby tom dragged in an old gray cat. Pebblepaw and I gasped.

"I can't start playing your game," growled Ridge. "I already _am_."

It was Scamper, dragging Storm. And Storm wasn't moving.


	7. Chapter 6: Water and Wind

_**Chapter 6:**_** Water and Wind **

_I hissed a string of insults, ill wishes, and swearwords_ at Scamper, positively fuming. Here he was, keeping us captive! _Me_! The best friend he'd ever had in his sorry little life! Ridge, Ridge, Ridge, it was all his fault, the _insert several swears here-_ing_ swearword_! Those alley cats are _only_ good for one thing—teaching me all these curses.

"Good, Scamper, very good," mewed Ridge smoothly. "Your loyalties are admirable."

Scamper smiled at him with his whole heart behind it. I felt hatred like fire burning inside me. What had he done to Storm? What was he doing? Why was he so committed to Ridge's view? Why was he brave enough to follow orders, but not brave enough to admit it and meet my eyes?

There had to be some remorse in there somewhere... Scamper wasn't all bad...

I hated myself for hoping it.

* * *

Quality of life that night reached an all-time low.

There being only one... 'nest,' for Storm, and one for any patients he'd have in the cave, Pebblepaw and I ended up huddled next to Storm's inert body, squashed together on the cold hard and unpleasantly wet cave floor around Storm himself, who, though motionless, was alive. So we gathered from his beating heart, anyhow. Ridge and Scamper courteously hogged the nests.

I stared at the misty sky outside, breathing in the salty air. It wasn't unpleasant out side of the stone floor I was being forced to sleep on... apart from that, it was quite nice. The night sky was dark, with little twinkling stars and a curve of silver moon behind a thin veil of typical seaside mist and the occasional cloud. The wind swept pleasantly through the cave entrance with a whistle, ruffling my cold (and rather damp) fur.

The way the wind blew, the sea stretched endlessly, stars glittered, and the mist sparkled like hundreds of tiny stars, it made me feel very... alive. Also cliché and rather poetic. (Inserting poetic/cliché aspects here) Like I could run a thousand miles, or swim across the ocean, or fly into those stars... That would be great. Flying. Soaring on the slightest air currents, spreading my wings out and just sailing above everyone, everything, into the moonlit night... (End clichés here). If I had one wish to be dispensed selfishly, it would be wings.

I glanced at Pebblepaw, wondering if he was feeling the same sense of openness-in-the-face-of-imminent-death type thing. He seemed to be simultaneously gritting his teeth with the overwhelming need for medical attention and admiring the expanse of tossing indigo sea. It _was_ quite lovely, nothing close the night sky, of course, but pretty dang near it.

I won't bother you with more inspirational descriptions of the tossing waters, the foam-capped waves, the moonlit ripples, etc., etc.. He would've probably liked to describe it to you, but right then I wasn't thinking along those moonlit-tom lines.

"So..." I said grappling for a conversation starter. I was having unusual difficulty with it. "You... have any... riveting life stories you'd like to relate about here?"

He shook his head slowly, like it was really difficult, gazing out at the sea.

"So, that was some... erm... pretty on-your-feet-fast thinking back there, seriously brilliant stuff, you know..." His lack of visible reaction was unnerving and also making it difficult to say anything more than "um..." a few more times. As a matter of fact...

"Hey, Pebblepaw, you there? Earth to Pebblepaw, hellooo...?" I mewed, shifting leg away from him weight so I could wave my tail in front of his face. He didn't blink. Pebblepaw's eyes were glassy and blank. "Oh, no..." I said.

I looked down at my leg where I'd shifted it away from his. It was drenched in blood. His blood.

"Pebblepaw!" I gasped, but he didn't say anything.

He slumped to the ground and didn't move.

* * *

I don't know if you've ever met someone and felt that kinda weird automatic connection, because I never had, until I met Pebblepaw. It sounds cheesy, I know, but we got off pretty dang well for a pair of kits in a life-threatening situation for most of their time together. So, it came as a rather unpleasant jolt when he stopped breathing.

I did my best not to hyperventilate, but it's more difficult than you'd expect.

"Ridge..." I squeaked, getting shakily to my paws. "Ridge, Pebble—Pebble needs help... he's not... breathing, and there's blood everywhere, and please, I don't want him to die, could you help—"

His cold yellow eyes blinked open in the gloom. Suddenly I wished I'd just left the cave without asking Ridge first.

"Can you get—or me, I mean, you know—get help?" I squeaked, "So he doesn't die? Please? We haven't done anything! He's—" I broke off, deciding that my scared little kitty act wasn't really getting me anywhere. I opened my mouth for a sassy comment, but I stopped.

Another pair of eyes blinked awake next to Ridge's. Scamper's.

"Wha—" he began, then he caught sight of me. A groan echoed quietly around the cavern that didn't even approach forming any words.

"What's the matter, Scamper? Sad to see me still alive?" I snapped.

"No—what?" he said blankly. "What are you talking about?"

I glared at him. But he didn't meet my eyes. Neither did Ridge, who contented himself with staring incredulously at my... shoulder. I opened my mouth for a retort of some variety, then turned around to see what they were gaping at.

A pair of green eyes were hovering by my shoulder, glaring death, doom, and destruction at the two toms. It was Storm.

With a snarl that would've made me turn tail and run, he leapt at Ridge and Scamper, bowling them both over. Well whaddaya know. He can heal cats _and _fight! A regular clan-o-rama. Except that he's an alley cat. I think.

The thumps and snarls coming from the other side of the cavern made me pretty sure it was safe to drag Pebblepaw out and escape, so I obliged. Struggling across the pointy floor and probably giving him several more fatal injuries, we made it outside.

The salty air seemed to be like a stimulant for Pebblepaw. He breathed easier as soon as we were outside, and I had to admit the wind and fresh air made me feel about a hundred times better.

I dragged him by the scruff under one of the older, more decrepit docks, where we took shelter from the mist. There was plenty of driftwood in the way, and I scrabbled a nest under the coarse sand, down to the dirt and shoved Pebblepaw into it. Then I flopped down next to him. I. Was. _Exhausted_. My last thought before I fell asleep was I hoped that Storm was okay and that Ridge hadn't killed him, and that Scamper burned to death in a vat of acid.

_But you knew him_, said the other half of my brain, _he isn't all bad, you know that. He was your friend. Just because he hurt Pebblepaw and Storm, that doesn't make him evil. He didn't hurt you. And you've known him for months. _

_You've only known _them_ for one day._

_Well, _I thought to myself, _it's been quite a day._


	8. Chapter 7: The Beginning and the End

_**Chapter 8: **_**The Beginning and the End**

_It wasn't my fault._

I just walked a different path than him. That's all.

He didn't like that, though.

My name was Star. His name is Ridge. We lived together. We were brother and sister. I didn't think really about him, not after I left home, and left that life behind, and him. I didn't think about Ridge much anymore. Not until now.

I was happy. I have a mate, a kit, and a happy life. Mostly.

Now I have dreams every night, and they sure aren't about chasing butterflies. And it's the same dream every time.

It started about a season ago. It was when I first met Pebblepaw, and talked to him. It was weird. I mean, he was just a shy little kit, and I didn't havanything in particular to say about him. I didn't make that connection between him and the dreeams.

He was going to be a strong, good warrior, I told his parents. I didn't tell them how I knew he would be nothing exceptional. It was just something I could tell. He was a normal little guy. Sweet, but nothing legendary.

Then his father died. Tragic. Ridgestar felt pretty bad for them, so she had the deputy, Stagfrost, mentor little Pebblepaw. I agreed with her decision... mostly. I found myself watching him, looking to see if he'd turn out as anyone exceptional, even though my instinct said he wouldn't.

I don't trust my instinct.

He turned out a fine, strong, brave warrior, stoic and silent, and with no real friends that I could see. I felt kind of bad for him, dad dead, tough mentor, and no friends. But before I could say anything, he disappeared. There was a big flurry of fear and search parties, and then everyone calmed down and almost completely forgot about him.

My dreams always went like this.

* * *

"Star?"

I groaned and rolled over, blinking slowly. The sunlight was white-bright in my eyes, and a single shadow was leaning over me. A hulking shadow with huge shoulders and dark, gleaming eyes.

"Yeah, what...?" I said, yawning.

"I have an idea," he informed me.

"Great," I told him. I dragged myself to my paws, blearily made my way to the kitchen, and swallowed some stale breakfast pellets. Ridge was pacing around me, telling me constantly to hurry up, wake up, get moving, and, come on Star, can you possibly go any slower?

I felt like lying down and going back to sleep after breakfast, but Ridge had other plans. He had a way of getting you to do what he wanted you to.

* * *

"What's this?" I asked.

"It's a forest," said Ridge bluntly.

"well I can see that," I replied irritably, with half a mind to tell him I was going back home. "I mean where are we _going_?"

"Into it," he said.

_Yeah right, _I thought, stopping dead in my tracks. "No way, man," I told him. "You couldn't drag me in there with an oil tanker. I'm dead before I go in there. Nope, sorry, you know, I'm going to go home and sleep now, like, you know, a _normal _cat."

Ridge stared at me. "We _aren't_ normal," he said in his low, hushed voice. "We're meant for something bigger. This is it."

"No way," I said again, backing away.

We were on the sidewalk in front of a huge forest, all read and gold from the autumn and white sunlight slanting through its branches. Clouds hung white and puffy against the pale blue sky above it, and moss draped over every branch like waterfalls. A river gushed, bluer than the sky above it, behind the trees, and an almost imperceptible footpath snaked among the mossy roots. It all swayed in the frosty breeze, maples and cedars and oaks, little bushes rustling beneath them.

It was the most uninviting place I'd ever seen.

"No, Star," Ridge said. "We're going in there. We have to, its our destiny."

"Excuse me, who made you the Seer of power?" I demanded. "How do you know what our _destiny _is? There's no such thing as fate anyway! We choose our own paths with every decision we make! We are who we are!"

"But we are shaped by our experiences!" argued Ridge.

"But if there's no such thing as fate, that wouldn't matter!" I countered. "There are too many variables and too many different spirits for anyone to ever know what's going to happen next!"

"But they could plan it out!" disagreed Ridge, practically yelling.

"_Who_ would?" I challenged. "God?"

"This conversation is getting us _nowhere!" _he snarled. I stopped. He looked insane, his teeth bared, a light in his eyes like chips of ice. I backed away further. "Sorry," he growled, backing up too. "I just.... I had a dream. I know it was no ordinary dream. You were there too, I know you need to come. I just know it. Maybe..." his eyes shifted, which I caught, "You were the cat behind, I'm sure of it. I was leading. The cat behind me was following me."

"So?"

"So? So we have to find out what." He jerked his head towards the woods. "Come on."

And he walked in. Didn't even look back. He knew me. He knew I would follow. But he didn't know how well I knew him.

The forest was actually pretty inviting, once you got in. Being autumn, it was all red and gold like a sunset, which is basically what fall it—an annual sunset. I liked that simile a lot, and was about to tell Ridge about it (plodding along in front of me with his face set and his eyes narrowed) when suddenly a huge crash echoed around us. A piercing yowl followed it.

"Whoa. What was that?" I asked Ridge.

"A tree falling," he replied indifferently, continuing. I, on the other hand, stopped.

"Ridge."

He ignored me and went on.

"Ridge!" He kept going as if I had said nothing. "Hey bighead! Captain divination! Hey! Someone got hit! Shouldn't we help them?!"

"No." he said without turning.

"Okay. Fine. You have fun on your little hike, I'm gonna go and see what happened, okay?" I called, finally getting tired of this idiot. "Bye!"

"You're not going anywhere," he replied calmly. "You're coming with me." I kept walking. "Star!"

Ignoring him was insanely satisfying.

"_Star_!"

And that was the last I heard of him.

* * *

"Hello?" I yelled.

"Oh... o...ver... here." The voice came frailly from the bottom of the basin I was in, full of beeches and maples, dropping their leaves in the morning sunlight. It was very lovely.

"Are you okay?" I asked, looking around for the victim. I could see the tree, but no cat appeared to be under it.

"N... sort of. Who is it?" The voice was coming from the other side of the massive beech, whose branches were still trembling from the impact.

"I'm Star. I'm lost. I come from a town over... somewhere, I forget, and my brother's a megalomaniac who thinks he sees the future. Who are you?"

"You're not from the clan?" Whoever was speaking was a tom, and he had a deep, dignified, and sensible voice.

"I could say yes, but then I'd have to find out what the clan is," I replied, avoiding a rock the same color as the tree on top of the cat.

A twig snapped nearby. I glanced up, coming towards the tree, a little nervous at being alone in the woods. I broke into a trot.

"Here," said the deep, shaken voice. I leapt with some difficulty onto the log, and then off the other side. The bark was smooth and surprisingly slippery. I leapt off the other side with a crunch of dead red leaves and saw the cat.

He was a dark tabby tom with eyes that were strikingly green. His stripes were dark brown on the black fur, and his paws were big and white and stained with his own blood. He wasn't especially big, but he was lean and muscular, and looked very powerful. He was crushed down by a branch and a net of twigs, and despite the blood, I could see no wounds on him.

"I'm Pinestar," he replied, and I could see where his namesake came from easily. He emitted an aura of shadowy pine forests with bars of sunlight slanting through the needles.

"Star," I said again. He smiled painfully. "How can I get you out?"

"Just pull," he answered, his smile becoming bared teeth and closed eyes. "I'm only stuck because the wounds weakened me."

I grabbed his scruff between my teeth instinctively and pulled, and with a rattling of dead leaves he came free. He was heavy.

I sat back, panting slightly, and he rose haggardly. "Thank you, Star," he said with dignity. I liked him. He was very calm. "So... Do you live with twolegs?"

"Um... Yeah. Well, I did. But I don't know if I'm going back there. I mean..." I took a deep breath, and then let the words gush out in explanation—"My brother is in a little bit of a nutty mood, and he's mad, and when he gets mad, it isn't generally pretty. He's a pretty convincing guy, like if he told me to go jump off a cliff because it was for my own good and the good of the world, I might do it. Well, I mean, _I_ wouldn't do it 'cause I don't mind standing up to him, but most cats would. A lot of his friends aren't really friends, they just kinda idolize him, and they just hang around like thugs. So I don't think I want to go back. I actually kind of like it here. It's really nice."

Pinestar stared at me. He probably only caught half of my rushed-out words, but he clearly understood my tone and the ones he had caught.

"Well..." he said thoughtfully, "Why don't you come with me? You can meet the clan and see if you want to stay or go back with... your brother."

"Okay," I agreed eagerly. "Oh, and, just so you know, he's a little bit wandering through the woods and you might see some of him soon. Just... tell your guards to maul him, okay?"

Pinestar chuckled. "Okay."

* * *

"Even leader. I wanna be leader someday."

"Why? Isn't that a whole lot of hassle?"

"I dunno. I don't think so. I wanna be like Pinestar, at least, he's so calm and everything. He's cool. And I would have nine lives."

"Yeah, right."

"_What_?"

"That's impossible. Only stories have nine-live-d-cats in them."

"Well, around here that's common knowledge. All leaders get nine lives, and StarClan gives them to them."

"Weird."

Stagpaw rolled over next to me. The eager apprentice was my only new denmate who was still awake. His blue eyes were bright in the gloom as he said, "Wouldn't you like nine lives?"

"Eh," I said. "First I gotta finish with this one. So far, okay."

"Yeah, I'll say. You're part of AshClan now! That's more than _Okay."_

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Okay then."

"Alright."

There was a pause.

"Stagpaw?"

"Yeah?"

"Why were the other apprentices laughing at me and making sniffing noises?"

"'Cause you smell funky."

"Hey!"

"Kidding. It's because they're snobs and you come from twolegplace. So they think you aren't as cool as them, 'cause they're clanborn. It's stupid."

"I'll say."

"Hey!" yelled a gruff voice. "Shut it down over there! You have lessons tomorrow, Stagpaw!"

"Yes, sir," Stagpaw grumbled.

"G'night, Stagpaw," I murmured, curling up.

"G'night, Ridgepaw," he replied in a muffled voice. A shiver ran up my spine.

Getting called by my brother's name was going to take some getting used to.


End file.
